There was once acalled Ronnie and he always came last.
One day， his jockey came to the stable and said tomorrow was to be Ronnie’s last chance. If he came last again， he would have to be sold. Ronnie felt so sad， he moped and wondered what he could do.
Just then he saw a little mouse sitting on the edge of his water bucket cleaning his whiskers. A tear rolled down Ronnie’s face.
“What’s the matter？” asked the mouse. “Why are you crying？”
“Because I always come last，” sobbed Ronnie， “and tomorrow is my last chance.”
“Hum，” said the mouse. “I’ll make a bargain with you. If I help you to win， will you let me live in this cosy stable with you？”
“Of course，” said Ronnie.
So the mouse went into a corner of the stable and mixed some ointment in an old tobacco tin he found. As he stirred the mixture， he mumbled away to himself.
“What are you saying？” asked Ronnie.
“A magic spell my granny taught me，” replied the mouse. “That’s it， all ready now， this should do the trick，” and he smeared the ointment all over Ronnie’s hooves.
So Ronnie was led out to his last race.
A great shout went up from the grandstand： “They’re off? ? And Ronnie started to run. It seemed as though his feet had wings. He ran and he ran， passing all the other horses until he reached the finishing post first.
Back in the stable Ronnie told the mouse of his success.
“It’s all due to you，” he told him. “I hope you’ll stay and keep me company.” So the mouse did.